Tabula Rasa
by Quill-lady
Summary: Where do you go when the life you know is over?  Time for a clean slate and a young woman offers Sherlock a chance to learn how to live and feel...
1. Prologue

He was so used to speed, noise, contact, the busy lives of the populace of London, that constant roar of buses, cars, trains, people living their lives, that noise that he always blocked out when he was thinking. That to be without, to pause, and to stop was making him feeling like he was going insane.

But it wasn't entirely gone, he was always thinking, he couldn't stop. It was just incredibly difficult to think of what to do now, what to think now? He could not stay in London, it was far too dangerous but where could he go? He had to go away from John because right now he couldn't stop himself watching John and that in itself was too dangerous.

So it had to stop, for John's safety and his sanity he had to go, he had to leave Molly's spare room and go somewhere. That was part of the plan, lay low till after the funeral, and then go away.

But where?

He could travel, he supposed, he could go abroad, travel abroad, become invisible and he could travel the world nobody would ever know. Except the borders were closed, Moriaty may be dead but his many contacts were not. Even in death Moriaty was still moving the chess pieces.

He would not beg "The Woman's" help either, she was all fire and crackle, like a the powder in a firework, far to noticeable and not the salve he needed to heal his wounds.

He had to disappear, for him to do that successfully shaking off any person would follow him, perhaps he himself would not even know where he was going.

Were these the thoughts of an insane man, plotting his disappearance from a city he loved, watching his best friend weep over his supposed grave?

But then again sane, normal, ordinary- how that word had haunted him since the rooftop of St Bart's- none of these words had been associated with Sherlock Holmes ever before.

Lost was always going to be a new one as well, he had lost his best friend, his flat, his community, his work, his entire life. He was lost from the society he had never quite fitted in but he was bereft and being lost from that entire he knew.

How could he answer a question when he didn't even know the answer himself, he looked at Molly whose eyes were filled with sadness and Sherlock imagined the familiarity in those eyes and imagined himself back in the morgue, when he was solving a case.

What he would not give to not be back there again, before he had lost everything, before the final problem and this so called solution.

Molly was staring at his one rucksack, all that he was taking with him, he had tried to smile, to reassure her, but Molly knew he wasn't entirely sure why he was smiling and neither did she.

She knew this day was bound to come, but wasn't quite sure why he had to go, foolishly she wanted him to stay and yet at the same time she knew he had to go. There would be no relief in him going, would he be safe? Would he? Course he was, he was Sherlock Holmes, he was unbeatable, Molly bit her lip, he was unbeatable until so recently.

Did he know her thoughts were everywhere? Probably. Did he know that she thought of him constantly, especially the past few week, when he had relied on her, did he realise he made her feel like her heart was going to burst? Probably not.

But that was Sherlock, she knew he had heart somewhere and knew that the past few weeks had proven that he could feel. But she knew that her love was unrequited because he didn't know how to love, real love. He was incapable of such sentiment, but that wouldn't stop her loving him.

Sherlock could sense that Molly was getting emotional, the signs were all there, elevated heart rate, watery eyes looking at the wall instead of him, her laboured breathing. He knew why but could not understand, but he would not put her through anymore. Throwing his rucksack over his shoulder, he smiled at her, awkwardly kissing her on the cheek. How would he ever pay her back for all she had done for him?

"Where will you go?" she asked her voice quavering.

"I don't know"

Such a foreign sentence for Sherlock Holmes to admit that he did not know. But this whole experience was new to him; he was going to have to live without everything that he had taken for granted.

The only thing Sherlock had to do now was disappear.

To become lost.


	2. Chapter One The Mysterious Girl

Chapter One

The whole word seemed to be a blur to everyone else as they rushed through their own lives, but not to Sherlock. He noted every person, every expression, every nuanced behaviour; his way of thinking, of watching, never stopped. Except that for the first time, he saw things in a blur like others, the past few weeks had taught to him look in a way that he had never done before.

Fighting to stay in some sort of control, it had been a blur choosing a station to start his journey, ruling out Paddington and Euston, constantly thinking of where to go, dismissing places where you could be easily found. But somehow he still put one foot in front of the other, moving further way from the life he knew. He had finally chose King's Cross, the northern line and now the question was where to get off. He had bought a ticket to Edinburgh but that didn't mean he had to get off there, if he was being watched he could be tracked in Edinburgh. He had chosen a train that had many stops, taking it's time to get to the Scottish capital. It was an older train, probably due a refit, the doors still required to be opened manually from the window and one had blown open, sending air whistling through the carriage making it difficult to think. Sherlock watched an elderly lady purse her lips and hunch her shoulders up, no doubt feeling cold.

Sherlock was about to get up when a young woman, sitting at the table opposite, got up and walked briskly into the vestibule, slamming the window firmly shut. The elderly lady smiled in relief, her shoulders relaxing, she thanked the young woman but got no reply, only a smile in return. Sherlock returned his attentions to the train journey; the train had just left Peterborough. The next stop would be York. He thought about the Minster, the city and the narrow streets, he could feel quite at home there. Not only that but he could go into the countryside if he needed to, there was always the Moors and the Dales. He let himself relax a bit as he felt more in control, letting himself be lulled by the motion of the train, he yawned and stretched his legs out and let himself be rocked asleep.

"Ladies and Gentlemen we will shortly be arriving in Newcastle, changes for Carlisle, Sunderland and the Tyne and Wear Metro, please alight here, we would like to thank..."

Sherlock blinked, wincing as the afternoon light hit his eyes, his first proper sight being the Tyne Bridge as to confirm his realisation that he had slept through his stop. Quickly he thought about everything he knew about Newcastle, he could get off here, rather than be tracked further North in Edinburgh, it would be too obvious to stay on the train. Quickly he got up putting his coat on and grabbed his rucksack from above him, feeling the shudder as the train pulled to a stop. A mass of people made to move towards the door, Sherlock watched the young woman who had so effortlessly shut the window before, struggle with getting her suitcase from the luggage bay. Clearly it had been moved by someone else to the top of the bay, judging by the mild irritation and frustration on her face as she tried to reach above her to get it.

"Allow me." Sherlock stepped forward, effortlessly lifting the suitcase down.

"Thank you." the young woman replied, not quite meeting Sherlock's eyes, a blush filling her cheeks; she grabbed her suitcase and made to leave the train. The reaction intrigued Sherlock but he recollected his thoughts as he stepped off the train, instantly being hit by the crispness of the air, he felt himself shiver, instantly tensing and pulled up the collar on his coat. He followed the crowds over a bridge towards an exit, taking in the new noises and sights of an unfamiliar city.

Space! There was so much space, even in the train station as he looked around the main concourse, the light that filtered through the glass ceiling and the imperial entrance. People milled around all waiting patiently, whether for a train, a coffee or getting through ticket barriers.

Sherlock was aware of the sheer buzz of the station, taking in every detail; he felt his mind reading and deducting everything, the tannoy announcer clearly hungover, the different accents, broad Geordie, Scottish Stags and Scouse Hen do's. The moody teenagers waiting to get their train home after college. It wasn't the 'nowhere' he was looking for but it was completely different, and for the first time in weeks, his mind was alive deciphering this completely different world to the one he knew in London.

He stared at the departure board when he saw the young woman from the King's Cross train was doing the same, he watched her check her watch, pursing her lips before turning on her heel and walking out of the station. And Sherlock followed her, he did not know why, but he was intrigued by her. Watching her slim frame march out of the station and turn right, her golden hair swinging with every step. He made to follow, but a crowd of rowdy men piled out of the bar inside the station and when he got past them, she was gone.

Sherlock decided to explore the city, letting his mind take in the older buildings beside the newer flats and galleries, Newcastle had a space that he couldn't get over. It was old, and yet at the same time it was like breathing new air. His mind calculated the people as he sat at a cafe on the quayside, watching the tourists crossing the millennium bridge, the cyclists riding by, the depressed lawyers from the nearby law courts, the clandestine lovers sipping a coffee in sheltered spot. The winter sun started to peek through the clouds just as it was beginning to set, giving the sky a red, orange and purple glow.

He had made the effort to leave London, although he knew Newcastle wasn't his destination, and yet now he started to question his reasoning for leaving London at all. Was it really the right decision? Would John be safe?

At the thought of John, Sherlock swallowed, the guilt rising in his gut. How could he have left him? But the answer was the same answer to why he had jumped off St Bart's roof. John was breathing wasn't he? He was alive; he was safe as he could be and to maintain that Sherlock had to keep his distance. But why here? Surely he could still watch from a more manageable distance than 300 miles away. But that was the point who knew who could be watching John and looking for Sherlock. A surge of panic coursed through him and was replaced by pain as he realised that by watching him closer would put him in danger. 300 miles perhaps wasn't even far enough.

Sherlock pondered this as he walked through the newly darkened streets of Newcastle, it was after 6pm, still rush hour and although he had been in the city for more than three hours, he had seen two different sides to the place. There was a hum of excitement as people flooded the roads, the trains and buses of the city, either to get home from work or get back into the city to party. Crowds filtered into the bars and an army of black and white clad people started to swarm the streets. Sherlock watched in somewhat bemusement as the tribal chants confirmed his thoughts; the city was coming to life for football. He avoided a main street full of the army and started to walk down a darkened alley when he heard a scuffling noise behind him, he quickly turned around to see ghosts from the past. Or at least copies of them.

Two men and a woman swapped money for little foiled packets; Sherlock closed his eyes and remembered those times, those times when it had been him. He felt his heart race and licked his lips; his mind wasn't working properly.

"What are you looking at?" one of the men yelled, waking him up from his trance, Sherlock quickly turned his back and walked away ignoring the abuse and trying to ignore the seed that the memory had planted in his mind.

Back at the station, staring at the departures board again, Sherlock couldn't help but look at the next London train. He could go back, and he could go to Mycroft. He sighed but then he heard little determined footsteps and the wheels of a suitcase and he watched as a swish of golden hair marched into the ticket office. Sherlock followed standing in the queue behind her, he looked at what she wore; court purple heels with dark blue jeans and a warm expensive coat, her hair was what astounded him, it had every golden colour, from amber to blonde, he could even see auburn there and it seemed to shimmer. The woman stepped forward to buy a ticket "Single to Haydon Bridge" he heard her say but his intent listening was interrupted as he was ushered by a loud automated voice to the next ticket booth. He moved slowly to the booth, a grumpy older man stared at him questionably.

"Yes?"

Sherlock stared at the man, he looked to the next booth where the lady had disappeared again, "Single for Haydon Bridge" he said, quite unsure of why he said it.

Standing at the platform, waiting for the 19:07 to Carlisle, he was still not quite sure whether making his destination Haydon Bridge, because of his curiosity of a woman who had shut a window on a train was really the best reasoning. He didn't even know what was there, but perhaps that was the appeal. He was acting out of turn, he was going to the middle of nowhere, what better way to shake off any tails that he may have following him by acting out of character.

The train pulled up, an old decrepit two carriage train and for a second Sherlock wasn't entirely sure that it would actually get out of the station, let alone carry them to Carlisle. Clearly everyone else had not noticed the death-trap status of it as they climbed aboard, including the young woman.

Sherlock shrugged and boarded the train too, which was stifling as the heating was on full blast, had probably not been cleaned in the last decade and surprisingly busy. Sherlock made his way to a free table, pulling off his coat and settling down as the train pulled away.

"Excuse me is anyone sitting here?...Oh..." a voice piped up beside him and Sherlock looked up to see the blue eyes of the mysterious girl from the London King's Cross train.


End file.
